Starlight
by Nimbus01
Summary: [GoF Prompt Response] Strange things await those who descend from the comfort of the clouds to dance among the shadows below the ground. In a long-forgotten canyon, one young Flyer will come to learn this lesson, and the lines between what is real and what is not will blur under the pale light of the Night Circle.


**Hello everyone! I'm super excited to share this short story with you. This marks my first entry for Season 2 of the GoF prompt challenge, and it follows a side character from my primary story: "To Tread Upon Fields Afar." The character in question is Squall, a young hotshot Campylognathoides with an attitude more abrasive than my parmesan grater. The following prompt response was created in response to a challenge to create a Halloween-themed "spooky" prompt. With that said, I hope you enjoy my entry! I'll be starting on Fields' next chapter this week, with plans to focus solely on it this month. Until next time! And before we launch into this, let's decipher some Flyer slang!**

 **Bank:** a rolling aerial turn.

 **Furball** : term used by Flyers to describe a large gathering of Flyers, often used seriously in a combat situation, but can also be used colloquially to describe a gaggle.

 **Longhead (to "Longhead-out"):** Longhead is a derogatory term used by small, agile Flyers to describe larger Flyers such as Pteranodon. They see slow, gliding creatures like them as cowardly and largely boring, and thus think less of them for it. To "Longhead out" is to essentially "chicken out" and avoid risk.

 **Slip:** a maneuver in which a Flyer moves semi-diagonally through the air in order to remain coordinated during a heavy crosswind or any other sort of force resistant to forward flight. Really only common in tailed-Flyers who are capable of correcting for yaw with their long, feathered rudders.

 **Wetbeak:** A whelp. Term used to describe young and inexperienced Flyers, implying their beak is still "wet from the egg they hatched in."

 **Wingfire:** Refers to the restless nature of young, sexually mature Flyers, particularly males. Mostly only used by older adults with disdain towards those they see as blinded by their own youth.

 _Starlight_

I.

The Challenge

Under a cloudless night sky, beneath a canopy of dancing stars, a young Flyer made his way over the cracked earth beneath him, his long journey at an end, even if that end was only temporary.

The place he found himself flying over tonight was a popular roost in the area for Flyers of his own kind, a place they called "Earthbreak Roost," a name bestowed on the land due to the myriad of deep cracks that spread out over the ground in all directions, much like the web of a fanged Crawler when seen from above. A lot of these little cracks were barely noteworthy, but some spawned canyons and ravines, massive cuts deep into the rock that led on for great distances, twisting and turning all the way.

But one in particular stood out to him as he flew over: a thin, deep gash in the ground that seemed to go on for longer than the rest, only ending when it reached a collection of distant hills. While the other ravines seemed to spawn from the roost's central canyon, this one seemed to stand apart. Its passages were thin, barely wide enough to accommodate two Flyers at once. Like the main canyon, this one featured a stream at the bottom, but this one was slow-moving, its waters clear and unmarred by turbulent rapids. For a Flyer looking to test his worth, it looked like the perfect place to make a statement, and the young Flyer made a mental note of it.

At first glance, there wasn't much to separate the young grey and green Flyer from the other rambunctious males of his age group. He was restless, cocky, strong-spirited, and he carried himself with an air of invincibility that most males who lived long enough would eventually grow to detest. Yet while most males took on this persona unwittingly, as if falling into their natural role, Squall wore it with purpose. He was a boaster by nature, and one who possessed the rare talent of actually following through with his claims. None in the Earthbreak Roost knew this, of course, a fact that the young Flyer was also well aware of as he made his way to the main roost.

Below him, the mating season was in full swing. Mates and prospective mates whirled about, following their instincts through a cacophonous sea of screeching, flapping, and the undeniable stench of desire. Males fought one another, performing their dangerous aerial dances in the hopes of impressing the females who had not yet been taken. There were few of them, but the fact hardly bothered Squall as he alighted on one of the many roots protruding from the canyon wall overlooking the river. After downing one Scaly Swimmer, plucked deftly from the river below, Squall was ready to make his entrance.

In truth, it was a feat easier said than done, even for the confident young Flyer. This was his first mating season experience, and while he'd witnessed furballs like this from afar, tonight was the first time he'd actually get the chance to participate. The thought of it made his hair stand on end, and his nerves seemed to tingled with the prospect of taking the next step towards adulthood.

 _First things first._

Squall spotted an older Flyer in the crowd, and made his way towards him, doing his best to avoid the males crossing his path every few steps. Age meant experience, and in a roost like this, experience often meant leadership, and a firm grasp on the situation, or so he'd been told. Roosts had no true leaders, but there were always a clawful of dominant males, and this one seemed the least likely to tear him to ribbons just for speaking. Nonetheless, he made ready to spring away as he sauntered up to the Flyer.

The old Flyer's body was crisscrossed by scars, accumulated from years of successful mate-fights. No males challenged him; Squall guessed this was because of the reputation the old Flyer had built for himself. He was muscular, massive for a Flyer of his type, and yet his eyes seemed to sparkle with an expression caught somewhere between joy and sadness. Perhaps the lack of competition for so many years had softened him, but Squall doubted it. His eyes were tracking him the moment he entered striking distance.

When the old Flyer turned to face him, Squall stopped where he was. The younger Flyer posed little threat, so the old Flyer didn't move to chase him away. Not yet, at least. He was a new face in the crowd, someone he hadn't seen yet. Earthbreak Roost had very few visitors, especially ones so young. Doubtless this was his first time out on his own.

"Welcome to Earthbreak, young one. I am Lathos."

"Squall," the newcomer answered with a dip of his head.

"Well, young Squall, if you're here for the Time of Mates, I'm afraid you might be a bit late. Most of our females are already taken."

"That a fact?" Sol's eyes swept over the crowd around them. Sure enough, most of the females he saw were in the company of another Flyer already, and those who were not were focused on the fights, waiting for the moment they would be courted by the victors. Strangely, this didn't seem to bother Squall in the least.

"Aye, that's a fact. You might be best off trying your luck with another roost. Suppose you could always try again next year too, if that tickles your fancy."

There were always latecomers. Every year saw a handful come and go, and they always seemed to gravitate towards Lathos. The old Flyer hated crushing their spirits, but to his surprise, Squall seemed anything but crushed. In fact, he could see the beginnings of a smile tugging at the sides of the young Flyer's beak.

"Sound advice, old timer, but I think I'd like to try my luck this year anyway."

With a sigh, the old Flyer shrugged. "Take your pick, Squall. I'm sure you can find someone out there rarin' for a fight, if you look hard enough."

Again to his surprise, the young Flyer shook his head.

"Oh I don't aim to fight anyone, sir. That's not why I'm here. I had a little something else in mind."

Now Lathos was confused. One couldn't expect to pick up a mate without fighting for her first. It simply wasn't done. No self-respecting female would fall for a Flyer who hadn't shown a little backbone first. Nevertheless, his curiosity was piqued, and he decided it wouldn't hurt to humor the young Flyer a little longer.

"Okay then," he said, a bemused smile spreading over his beak, "what exactly did you have in mind?"

Now it was Squall's turn to grin. The young Flyer flashed his teeth as the corners of his beak curved up in a sly smirk.

"I couldn't help but notice as I flew in today that there's a canyon nearby-"

The breath caught in Lathos's throat as the newcomer said this. He wasn't completely certain where he was going with this, but he had a fair idea. And he did not like it.

"Lot of canyons nearby," he interrupted, much to Squall's chagrin, "you'll have to be a bit more specific."

"Long one. Dark, with a little stream at the bottom, just wide enough for two Flyers, side-by-side, leads up to bunch of hills. You know it?"

"Aye," Lathos nodded, "I know it."

"Good. Anyway, I thought to myself as I flew over, 'Squall, it's a real waste isn't it, that beautiful, inviting slit lying there completely untapped. A real waste'." As he said this, Squall shot a wink towards a few passing females. Lathos grimaced. The lack of subtlety was not lost on him.

"So I thought it over for a while, and then I realized it: that canyon just needs a little love! It needs someone who isn't scared to death of it to explore its fine curves and straights. Figured if no other Flyer has the set on him to give it a try, I may as well be the first. What I'm trying to say is, I can run that canyon, Lathos. And once I do, I doubt there'll be a female in this roost able to keep her wings off me."

Silence fell on the gathering, spreading out from where Squall and Lathos stood in a wave. Murmurs passed between beaks as Flyers tried to comprehend the claim the newcomer had just made. The silence was broken by a loud guffaw from Lathos.

"Sharptooth shit! No one has ever completed that run, wetbeak, and you'd be a fool to try! That canyon would eat you alive!"

"And I say otherwise. Besides, what do you stand to lose by it? If I fail, you go on fighting one another over mates and nothing changes. If I win, well, my point stands." He turned to address the crowd that had gathered around them.

"Think about it ladies, do you want the Flyer who beat another Flyer? Or the one who beat death itself?"

A murmur rippled through the crowd, some of the males looked a tad uneasy. Squall turned back towards Lathos. The old Flyer sighed.

"There's no question of the glory you'd achieve making that run, but what's the use if you're not around to claim it? Take it from someone who's seen young Flyers like you squander the lives they've been given. Wait a year, let the wingfire die down, and try again when the time comes. Take it from me, you'll live longer."

"A life without risk is not a life worth living," Squall replied with a sudden solemnity unbefitting of his conduct so far. "I bet you all these guys here are thinking the same thing, deep down. You'll see it for yourself when I make that run tomorrow and they all turn out to see me. Come on, old timer. We both know I'm going to do this whether you like it or not, so let's make it official, yeah?"

The old Flyer groaned and rubbed his eyes. The wetbeak was giving him a headache with his childish ideals, but he was right about one thing: his life, his choice. If he wanted his life cut short by that cursed canyon, then so be it. It wasn't his place to say otherwise. He wasn't the kid's father, at least as far as he knew.

"Fine," he grumbled, turning to the assembled Flyers and addressing them all.

"This here's a wetbeak from beyond our land called Squall. If any of you missed it, he said he's going to try a run through Breakneck Pass tomorrow."

"Soit's got a name," Squall muttered. Lathos ignored him.

"Let this be his challenge to the males of the roost, and may the Bright Circle have mercy on his foolish soul."

When he turned his attention back to Squall, he saw the young Flyer grinning like a lunatic. He did not match the newcomer's cheerfulness as he leaned in to whisper his last piece of advice for the night to the Flyer.

"You're in it now, on your honor. Can't back down if you Longhead-out on us as long as you're here. So between you and me? Back out, take the hit. Leave tonight and never come back, and I promise you we won't spread the word. You're a good kid, if a bit mouthy. Don't fuck up your future over a chance at a mate."

Squall's smirk widened as he leaned in closer to the old Flyer's head, his beak stopping just shy of his ears.

"Don't think I can do it? Alright. Just for that, let's raise the stakes a bit. Tomorrow evening, as the Bright Circle leaves the sky. A night flight through Breakneck Pass, on my honor. Oh, and I do love an audience, old timer."

And then he was gone, in search of a perch to rest his aching bones for the night.

"I'll be there," Lathos whispered, watching him go, "but I hope for her sake, you won't be."

II.

The Run

When the rest of the roost awoke with the sounds of the dawning day, they soon realized that the newcomer was already awake. From the roost they could see him cruising slowly above Breakneck Canyon, no doubt marking out his route. A great many whispers were exchanged, some even threatened to chase him away after the way he'd insulted the roost's males the previous night, but no one made a move against him. In fact, scarcely anyone dared to approach him. Perhaps it was the power the old canyon seemed to possess, an uneasy feeling radiating from its dark depths, punctuated by its history, one too old for most of the Flyers to remember, or perhaps the truth was a little simpler: maybe they were all just as curious to see if the Flyer could actually make good on his promise. Even Lathos, when he woke, simply regarded the distant Flyer with a sad smile before going about his day. He hadn't expected Squall would take his advice and leave, but part of him had hoped for it. It'd save the roost from suffering the inevitable tragedy of his end.

Back and forth he went all day, only stopping to snack on a Scaly Swimmer that a few curious younglings brought to the canyon. The little Flyers lingered only long enough to deposit their meal before racing back to the safety of the roost. Lathos watched them the entire way. Even the children with absolutely no experience regarding the mysterious canyon were unnerved by it. A smart choice.

Squall tucked into his meal with the voraciousness of a starved Sharptooth before returning to his patrol. He remained above the canyon at all times, careful to avoid breaking the rules he'd set for himself. If he went down in the canyon now, without the cover of darkness, he'd be neglecting his promise to Lathos, and that simply would not do. So he remained in his pattern, back and forth, back and forth, until the sky began to take on the orange hue of evening. As the Bright Circle touched the horizon, he concluded his final patrol, and perched on the edge of the canyon, waiting.

The crowd accumulated slowly at first- a few groups of males here and there, some scattered females, children eager for the chance to not only see the newcomer eat canyon wall, but also to stay up a little later than usual. As these small groups came to the cliffside, more and more followed, and by the time the Bright Circle had almost set, nearly the entire roost lined the top of the canyon wall. Yet despite the crowd, the air was still and silent. All eyes were on the grey and green Flyer perched at rapt attention on the canyon's edge.

It was nearly time to start; the Bright Circle's light was barely more than a sliver above the horizon now, but before it could set completely, Squall heard the sound of shuffling wings and claws behind him. It was, to the surprise of no one, Lathos once again.

"Twisty in there," Squall noted, the smooth bravado of his usual self replaced by a hard-focused determination, "I'll have to keep on my toes the entire time. You weren't kidding, old timer. This canyon's a sight to behold from the air, but a real beast up close."

"No backing down now," Lathos murmured. "You had the chance last night."

"'Course not," Squall winked at him, shooting him his usual peevish grin as his personality shone through once more, "never said I would. Everyone here is expecting a show, maybe a free meal if I really fuck it up. I aim to please either way."

"Humph," the old Flyer muttered, "well in any case, when you get to the end, you should be aware of-"

"Stop," Squall snapped, "I'm going to stop you right there. I don't know what you know about this canyon, but I don't want to hear it. This is my flight, my challenge, and every hint and warning you give me is going to make it less so. I want the full experience, and so do they," he said, gesturing towards the gaggle of onlookers. Lathos sighed.

"Suit yourself, wetbeak. Bright Circle's settin.' Might want to start soon, lest these folks get antsy."

Squall squinted at the red light on the horizon, watching as the sliver diminished gradually.

"Wait for it…. Wait for it…"

The sliver of light disappeared completely, vanished behind the horizon, and with the conclusion of the day, Squall folded his wings and dropped over the edge of the canyon as if he'd been struck dumb by a stone, whooping "later, old timer!" all the way down. The crowd gasped collectively, but just as it seemed he was about to fall into the stream at the bottom of the canyon, the Flyer snapped his wings open, leveling off just above the surface of the water- low enough to leave ripples in his wake. His trial had begun.

Squall began to pump his wings up and down, beating them furiously as he gained speed on the opening stretch. Between the canyon walls he had plenty of room to maneuver, and plenty of room for the onlookers to watch. Squall scanned the water of the stream as he coasted above it, deciding he had plenty of room to give the onlookers a little "pre-show" experience. A telltale flash of silver betrayed the presence of a Scaly Swimmer surfacing to feed, and Squall dove for it, scooping it from the water and tossing it up into the air. Then, as his catch fell back towards the water, he thrust himself upwards, catching the Scaly Swimmer in midair and twisting his body through a tight roll. To the Flyer's surprise, his spectacle garnered no applause. They weren't here to see him catch food, he realized. More than likely, they were here to watch him die.

Snapping down the savory treat, Squall dropped whatever bony pieces he couldn't finish back into the stream before resuming his pace, barely bothered by the crowd's apparent disinterest in his tricks. It felt good to have something in his stomach after a day spent flying back and forth over the canyon. As he approached the turn that marked the first of the canyon's tougher sections, he began to weave back and forth, warming his wings up. The last thing he needed was to injure himself when things inevitably got trickier. Giving his wings a few test thrusts, Squall confidently returned his attention to the path ahead once more. He felt the eyes of the roost on his back, and pulled upward, rolling left in an exaggerated banking turn as he entered the curve. It hadn't been necessary to swing as wide as he did, but he knew one of the pairs of eyes boring into him doubted his abilities. That pair was the only one that mattered.

The wide open canyon was gone now, replaced by a somewhat narrower path forward. Squall continued to follow the river, flying low above its guiding waters as he rolled level, the first turn complete. He knew from his previous scouting flights that the turn wasn't all that complex. Any Flyer with half a brain could turn left, but he'd executed the maneuver with all the precision he could afford, nonetheless, carrying almost all of his speed through it.

The air just above ground level was thick and rich, and Squall made the most of it, boosting himself forward towards the next turn, a somewhat sharper right. Above he could see a few more Flyers gathered. Those who watched him at the start of the run were there for the spectacle, but the eyes that peered down on him now were more critical, placed at the first spot they imagined trouble might arise. These were the more experienced Flyers of the roost, and undoubtedly, some were probably still a little sore from his "Longhead" jab the previous night. Squall chuckled as his eyes met theirs, and couldn't resist the chance to flash one of his infuriating winks. The gesture seemed to bounce right off the watchers like water on stone. Squall understood. Up there, they weren't in any immediate danger. He was in no place to insult anyone just yet.

Squall slipped into a bank, turning himself at a steeper angle to match the curvature of the turn. If he recalled correctly, the next segment would increase the severity of the curve, and then lead to-

But as Squall prepared to hold his right turn, he suddenly found himself greeted by a sheer wall. Squall's gorge rose and his stomach seemed to shrink as he wrenched himself upwards and over, transitioning his right turn through a slow roll into a left bank. From above, the maneuver had looked smooth and deliberate, perhaps even a little showy, but Squall could feel his heart pounding in his chest, as if it was suddenly desperate to escape the seemingly suicidal body it was trapped in. He'd forgotten about this segment. Between the two right turns was a sharp left, a "Belly Slider" turn as some Flyers called it for its winding shape. It was an easy maneuver to follow through with, but equally dangerous for the unaware. Cursing himself, Squall resolved to keep his mind on the path ahead, and not his onlookers. There would be plenty of time to gloat later.

The onlookers in question, satisfied with Squall's completion of the turn, took flight, giving the canyon itself a wide berth. From their vantage point on high, they followed the Flyer, able to make out his dull coloration just barely against the ground. There were five of them in total, all males, and all- as Squall had predicted- equally eager to see the Flyer fail for the words he'd spoken the previous night. They matched their pace to that of the Flyer below, but a call from the head of the formation broke their ranks. Fog was on the way, the leader called, and it was settling fast. Soon they would lose sight of the young Flyer altogether.

The bravest among them elected to press on to the end of the canyon, where they would await Squall's arrival or news of his death. The others turned away, back to the roost, justifying their shame by rationalizing that no Flyer in his right mind stood a chance against the fog. Squall was doomed, they whispered among themselves.

But their voices were uncertain.

As the turn began to straighten out, Squall once again found himself flying straight ahead. The water of the stream still guided him on, but the surface was becoming increasingly harder to see as more light left the sky. Things would get easier once the Bright Circle's dim light left the sky entirely, leaving the Night Circle's glow to shine over the landscape, but until then he'd have to put up with the strange, shadowy realm that stood as the border between day and night: twilight.

He'd picked up some height while making his turn, so Squall dipped lower, returning to his cruise above the stream. His eyes wandered upwards, towards the Flyers who had been watching him, and to his surprise, Squall saw them scatter. Their sudden dispersal made his blood run cold. What had they seen that forced them to abandon his pursuit?

It didn't matter, and Squall reminded himself of this as he squared himself and continued on course. There wasn't a Sharptooth, Flyer, or Sharptooth Flyer in the Mysterious Beyond that stood a chance at catching him down here, as far as he could tell. He'd made a promise, and he intended to keep it.

The passage was a narrow one, but not unbearably so. Above him, roots protruded from the walls of the canyon, and Squall became aware that he was passing through a cluster of trees. One of the old wooden giants lay sprawled at the bottom of the canyon, resting directly in his path, propped diagonally between the two stone walls, the victim of a stampede or some windstorm long ago. Squall dipped lower, swooping beneath its angled trunk and letting out a triumphant "squaw!" as he cleared the obstacle. It didn't matter that no one was watching anymore. This trick he'd done for himself. The rush he felt as the bulk of the leafy branches above him passed within touching distance was exhilarating, and he poured that energy into a newfound burst of speed, heading for the sharp right turn that marked his next segment. Squall pulled up slightly. This turn was harder than any he'd attempted so far, and he would need all the height he could get to avoid losing his hold on the air and slamming into the stream. Satisfied that he was high enough above the ground to avoid this potentially embarrassing fate, Squall dipped his wings almost completely vertical, and entered his hard bank.

As he did, something just out of the corner of his peripherals caught his attention- a flash of white or grey, something moving.

Something moving through the canyon.

But before he could turn his head to see what it was, he had entered the turn. Squall angled his wings, beating them furiously as he fought against the strange force that pressed against him, the force all Flyers knew but had no name for. It fought with him, resisting his attempt to turn hard, but Squall had dealt with this force before. He pushed back, tightening his turn even more. The outer wall of the turn stood dangerously close now; Squall could feel it tickling the skin of his belly every so often. Each time he felt it, he pushed harder, knowing that letting up even once would send him into a painful, uncoordinated, and probably fatal tumble.

Dull light appeared ahead of him, shining off the canyon walls, and Squall clawed for it, reaching into his reserves and pouring every ounce of strength he had into his wingbeats in spite of the pain flaring up in his joints. Not too much farther now. Up ahead he could hear the roar of water, his goal.

The Flyer shot out of the turn with all the force of a Jumping Water spout, his grey and green body a blur among the stone as he leveled out. He'd reached the middle of his run- a wide ravine flanked on one side by a series of waterfalls pouring into the river below. From here, the canyon branched out in several directions, taking the water with it, but Squall was only interested in the opening that lay on the exact opposite end of the clearing- a dark gash seemingly cleaved into the rocky wall. Beyond the clearing, the challenge only grew harder. Inspired by the open air, Squall surged ahead again, beating his wings tirelessly. Even the pain seemed dulled as he raced towards the waterfalls.

Then he saw it again, a flicker out of the corner of his eye. A faint splash of pale color amid the darkness. Confident that it was safe to do so now, Squall looked behind him and nearly jumped out of his own skin in shocked surprise..

He was not alone.

The young Flyer prided himself on his situational awareness, but somehow, he hadn't seen her coming. She was a Flyer, the same type as him. Her body was pale, yet shone with a brightness that rivaled the Night Circle's own mellow beauty. Her wings, as pale as the rest of her, seemed to capture the light of the night sky and reflect it back outward in a stunningly radiant display. If there were no other light source, Squall would have felt confident saying she might have been the only light a lost Flyer would ever need in the dark of night. She was approaching quickly from behind, and as she drew nearer, Squall realized that he'd never seen her before. Perhaps he simply hadn't paid attention during his first night at the roost, but she seemed to carry herself with a purposeful, confident grace and poise that no other Flyer he'd witnessed possessed. She was, in no small way, the most beautiful sight he'd ever laid eyes on. Against his better judgement, Squall found himself flaring his wings, and allowing her to catch up.

She caught up quickly, matching his pace without any visible effort, and Squall found he actually had to speed up to keep up with her. Up close, her beauty only seemed to grow. Her coat was flawless, her wings as smooth and sturdy as wind-blasted stone. But it was her eyes that caught the Flyer's attention and held it- two pale green orbs that sparkled with the light of the stars, yet seemed to possess a hidden sadness behind their dark pupils. Squall racked his brain, trying to recall any memory of her, but he was certain he would have remembered someone as distinct as she was.

And then it occurred to him that perhaps she, too, was a wanderer, perhaps even one who possessed the same wingfire that he did. If so, he reasoned, perhaps she was attempting the same run he was.

 _Nothing like a little competition to get the blood pumping._

He thought about asking her who she was, but the Flyer showed little interest in him. Her green eyes tracked the path ahead, and it was clear she was dead set on running the path. It was as if she didn't realize he was there at all.

Before Squall could speed up to pass her, however, she dipped her wings sharply and started a descending turn to the right, towards the canyon wall opposite the falls. A giant rock shelf stood out from the wall, one that looked like it might once have been part of a cave. Cave teeth stood out beneath its shadow, making it look like the jaws of a massive Sharptooth in the pale light of night. Below Squall, the female rolled level and headed straight for it.

 _Is she… is she showing off?_

Not to be outdone, Squall rolled towards the ground, picking up speed and regaining lost ground as he followed her. His suspicions were proven correct as the pale Flyer streaked towards the cave teeth, weaving in and out between the deadly spikes with a fluidity that seemed completely effortless. His mouth agape, Squall was nearly swatted out of the air by the first cave tooth he encountered. Sense shaken back into him, he concentrated on carving out his own path behind the pale Flyer. Every time a path opened up ahead of him, he took it, blasting between the empty spaces with a speed that would put most Flyers to shame. But still she held her lead.

A thick patch of cave teeth stood between them and the exit of the half-cave. Squall knew from the moment he saw it that the patch would slow her down. Not enough straights in the jumble of spikes to maintain any sort of speed, but above it…

Above it, the cave teeth were just as bad, but there was a fine gap in between the two, a space big enough for a Flyer to slip through, even if just barely. She wasn't chancing it, but Squall saw his opportunity and took it. Trying not to think about the prospect of becoming the rock-Sharptooth's latest meal, Squall pulled up and rolled, cutting his ascent off quickly as he righted himself. He was flying between the teeth now, feeling the displaced air as he whizzed by them. They were sharp, sharp enough that one wrong move would likely slice him open, and that would be the end of it. No canyon run, no rubbing his victory in Lathos's face.

No passing the pale Flyer.

The teeth dripped with water as he passed them; the cave was hungry. Below him he could see the pale Flyer working her way through the field of cave teeth. To her credit, she was slipping through them masterfully, but comparatively, she'd taken the safer route, and she would lose time for it. He was counting on it.

The teeth grew closer together the closer he got to the exit, and Squall couldn't shake the feeling that it felt the giant mouth was closing. He put on an extra burst of speed subconsciously, disregarding any trepidation. It didn't matter if he was flying faster. A crash here at any speed would probably be fatal. So he continued to pump his wings, blinking moisture from the dripping cave teeth from his eyes. He saw the light silhouette beneath him pass underneath his wing, and felt a surge of pride. His gamble had paid off; he was in the lead now. He could almost imagine her frustration at seeing him take the lead, yet surprisingly this did not please him. Normally he relished the opportunity to piss off his opponents, but this time he felt strangely different.

Squall cleared the cave teeth with only a few claw-lengths to spare, and immediately fell into a slow descent. The pale Flyer wasn't far behind. This time, Squall matched his speed to hers and held it, holding position alongside her, and in that moment, something completely unexpected happened.

The Flyer looked at him, her eyes straying from the trail for the first time. Squall felt a shiver run down his spine as the eyes worked their way up and down his body. Up close, holding her gaze, he felt something new, something he had never felt before- a tingling sensation that filled him with the desire to fly faster, higher. Something in the pale Flyer stirred his blood in a way no challenger or mate ever could. From the look of surprise on her face, he wondered if she felt the same.

 _Guess you've never met your match before, have you? I know the feeling._

But aloud he said nothing. Somehow, he felt it would be wrong to say anything. It would ruin the moment, this meeting of the two Flyers. The two rivals.

The female smiled, a smile so faint that Squall might just as easily have missed it if he wasn't paying attention. And even though no words were exchanged, the message was strangely clear to him.

 _Let's fly together._

Eager to test his assumption, Squall pulled ahead and descended to the height of the stream, now more of a river with the tremendous amount of water coming from the falls. He looked back, holding steady a few claw-lengths above the water's surface.

She was right behind him, holding position perfectly, and in that moment, Squall forgot all about the canyon run. He took a long, wide turn to the right, and she followed him exactly, hovering just off his wing. Squall rolled again, this time to the left, dipping the tip of his wing into the water. The pull of the water against his wing threatened to throw him off balance, but Squall corrected with his tail, throwing himself into a slight slip as he drew crisp wake-lines in the cool water. The female entered the maneuver, too, maintaining perfect formation off his left side. To Squall's utter amazement, her touch was so light that it left the water completely undisturbed. No ripples trailed behind her, and not even her speed could mar the surface of the water, so smooth was her flying. Squall was dumbfounded. Smiling at the utterly baffled Flyer, the pale Flyer took the chance to breeze past Squall, taking the lead. Shaking himself from his stupor, Squall, removed his wing from the water, following her up into a steep climb. The top of the canyon was approaching fast, and Squall found himself wondering if they would be disqualified for crossing the threshold of the canyon. Then again, no one was watching anyway, and even if they were, he couldn't care less. His eyes were on the Flyer, and the Flyer alone.

Gradually, they began to bleed off speed. Squall knew they couldn't keep the climb up at the rate they were slowing, but he held to his trust, maintaining the formation. Together, the two of them slowed to a crawl, and then to a dead stop, hanging in the air together, less than a wing-length apart. It had to have been for only a moment, but Squall felt as if the moment lasted so much longer. At the peak of their climb, both Flyers made eye contact. Squall smiled, she returned the smile, her beak turning up in a genuine grin, and Squall felt his heart take flight. Then, just as quickly as the moment arrived, it passed, and both Flyers fell back towards the canyon floor. The female Flyer righted herself, settling into a dive, and began to roll smoothly. Squall caught on immediately and did the same, and soon both Flyers were rolling in tandem, their paths intertwining and crossing over one another without ever intersecting. They raced towards the ground, spinning, never breaking their tight formation, and when they eventually ran out of room to dive, they pulled out of the spin simultaneously, without any word to one another, perfectly in sync. The pale Flyer steered towards the waterfalls next, swooping gently from side to side as Squall crossed over her, a reverse image of her own movements.

 _She's crazy,_ he thought as she led them both towards the roaring water, and grinned.

Between the sheets of falling water and the hard stone of the cliff was a small amount of space, cramped but usable, and the Flyers took it. The sound of the water crashing down from above was deafening, and the air was thick with moisture, but Squall had never felt as alive as he felt now. Together they ran with the curvature of the canyon and the falls, transitioning into a smooth bank, flying wingtip to wingtip flat against the canyon wall as a Longneck's weight of water poured down beside them. Squall could see the laughter in her face, even as she remained completely silent. He couldn't resist- as the water roared in his face, he cried a loud "skree!" right back at it, and when he turned his gaze back to the pale Flyer, he saw her smiling at him, her sad eyes sparkling in the wet air.

They crossed out from behind the falls at breakneck speeds, finding the river quickly and resuming their course. The canyon entrance was closer now, but Squall's trepidation, his cautious, methodical dedication to perfection was gone. He felt at ease with her by his side. Together they followed the river as it branched off into their familiar stream, crossing each other's paths, rolling playfully around one another as they dipped, climbed, and weaved their paths together in an intertwining display of precision and unity. To Squall, the flight was becoming something much more than a competition the longer their flirtatious maneuvers went on. Thoughts of her, her image, had worked their way into his heart, his soul, his very bones. He wanted none other. The females at the roost were barely more than a grain of sand in the back of his mind compared to the enrapturing beauty and elegance of the Flyer beside him. He wanted to keep up with her, to share his flight with her rather than fight her for glory. He wanted to finish the run with her at his side, for the two of them to emerge from the canyon triumphant, and what would the roost say then as they departed the canyon, flying on forever instead of landing to receive their meaningless praise? Would they speak of them at all or only watch in awed silence? Perhaps that was not the point. No matter what they thought, the memory of the two Flyers would remain here forever.

Deep in his own musings, Squall scarcely noticed as thick, grey fog began to descend over the canyon.

The rest of the canyon- the final stretch, if the young Flyer's observations were correct- loomed ahead, its passage marked by a thin, vertical slit in the stone. This wasn't like the last few sections he'd flown through already. He hadn't been able to see much of the canyon from the air, as its wavy and often tight and overlapping walls obscured his view from above, but from what he'd gathered, he knew it would be a worthy challenge. Tight corridors, sharp turns, and the real kicker- a final stretch that he knew nothing about, as it was completely obscured by foliage. Squall swallowed hard, despite his newfound courage, and looked to the pale Flyer. She looked back at him and nodded, and Squall felt the rest of his trepidation melt away as his old, comfortable smirk returned.

 _Together then._

Like the falls, the Flyers entered the canyon in a hard bank, wingtip to wingtip. The entrance to the final section was tight, and oddly-shaped. The canyon walls here were smooth, but wavy and unpredictable, bulging out in some places and strangely scooped-out in others. Flying side by side was out of the question, so they flew in a stack, one above the other, with Squall below and the pale Flyer above. The first turn came fast- a sharp Belly Slider curve that began with an abrupt twist to the right. Squall felt the familiar burn return to his wings as he powered through. He held his wings close to his body as the walls suddenly closed in, then extended them and pushed himself back in the other direction as the turn shifted to the right. A quick glance upward told him that the pale Flyer had made it too. There was no time to make eye contact now, no opportunity to establish a connection. From here on out, it was their own individual skill that would make the difference between life and death. Walls whizzed by as Sol exited the turn, and suddenly he became aware of a harsh chill in the air. At the same time, his vision seemed to fade. All but the closest walls disappeared from sight. Squall began to shake, feeling a familiar fear seep into his bones, the same fear he'd felt upon nearly colliding with the wall earlier. Fog. Fog had settled in on his path, and he hadn't realized it until now. There was no way to turn around, no way to slow down. The only thing keeping him from crashing was maintaining a high speed. Every few wingbeats forced him to tuck his wings in and drop to avoid brushing the canyon walls. To slow down would risk losing too much height during one such wing-tuck, and run the chance of crashing. He had to keep going or die.

He looked up again. She was still there, almost luminous against the grey, smothering fog, seemingly unfazed. The sight of her fought back the fear, and Squall climbed higher, closer, taking care not to interfere with her flight path. The closer he got, the warmer he felt, embraced by her light, her pale wings driving back the cold, choking dark. It was almost impossible to see the way forward, and Squall found himself reacting at the last possible moment to each new hazard that sprung out from the canyon walls, rolling, banking, diving and climbing, all while staying as close as possible to the pale Flyer. For each evasive maneuver that separated them, returning him to the freezing dark, another would bring them close, warming him from within. Fortunately, despite all of his course corrections, the path ahead was straight, but Squall knew something else was coming up.

 _Think, Squall. Think. Last segment, what did we see?_

The wall of the canyon ahead of them loomed suddenly in their forward path, and Squall snapped to the left, his wings threatening to dislocate as he remembered- just barely- the final turn visible from the air: a hard left bank. He lost some ground to the pale Flyer, but his measured, powerful wing-beats- taken every time the gap was wide enough to allow it- enabled him to catch up again. The strain was immense. The force against him felt as it it might rip him into pieces, but the guiding light of the pale Flyer kept him grounded, fearlessly fighting back against the canyon's will to destroy them both.

And then, when he began to wonder if the turn would ever end, they were free. But their troubles were far from over. The canyon began to shrink, the walls closing in tighter the farther they went. Darkness enveloped them both, shadows cast over them from something above the canyon, and Squall realized that they were nearing the end. The crack was thinning, and now they were flying blind beneath a thick canopy of leaves. Squall's eyes opened wide as he tried to adjust, but between the fog and the darkness, he saw only the faintest hints of shapes. He stuck close to the pale Flyer now, as close as he dared. Any closer together, and they'd run the risk of tangling one another up.

Squall ducked suddenly, dipping low to avoid a large root spanning the gap of the canyon. They were underneath the stand of trees now, the one that marked the end of the canyon run. No doubt someone was waiting up top, eager to see whether he'd survived, but his problems were far greater. The canyon continued to close in on the two Flyers, but the cover above remained thick, with no discernable way out. With the increasing tightness of their surroundings, the Flyers had no choice but to press forward, faster and faster, struggling to keep themselves aloft while remaining clear of the stone walls. They moved back into their stack formation, holding it as the walls attempted to crush them. The smile was gone from the pale Flyer's face now, replaced by a steely grimace of determination. Squall was less composed, his eyes darting about every which way, trying to find a way out, a hole big enough to fit a flyer, a part in the leaf cover, anything.

The floor of the canyon began to creep up towards them as the walls came together. Now, they were being crushed on all sides. Squall cursed at the overgrown foliage above the canyon, despite knowing it was no use. The pale Flyer remained silent, guiding them ahead, faster still. Squall's wings ached, and he wanted nothing more than to stop, but to stop meant to die. The achievement, the glory, none of it mattered anymore. All that mattered to Squall was that the two of them made it out alive. The floor was close now, only about the length of a Fastrunner away. Closer it crept, closer as the walls too shifted. Squall held a diagonal bank, correcting with his tail to maintain his forward course, and above him he could see the pale Flyer do the same. Her eyes were wide now. Gone was the sad yet strangely happy expression, replaced with a look of absolute fear. He couldn't pay enough attention to tell, but Squall could have sworn she was shaking. He most certainly was.

Closer, closer, the canyon's walls were so close now that he could almost touch them with each wingtip.

Then he saw it, a flicker of light among the dark, a grey break in the black shadow. Perhaps it was nothing more than a trick, but it was the best option he had. It was coming up quickly, bearing down on them from above, and the moment he sighted it, Squall broke his silence, calling out to the pale Flyer.

"Pull up!"

But her course remained true.

"Do you hear me? I said pull up!"

Still no response.

"Pull up, dammit!" Squall's voice cracked with desperation, but still she plowed on. Tears formed at the corners of Squall's eyes, whipped away by the force of the wind against his face, and in that moment, just as it seemed the exit might pass them by, he tried one last time to save the two of them. Drawing from his last reserves. Squall exploded forward, overtaking the pale Flyer, and pulled up sharply. He felt something strain in his right wing, but held it together even as it threatened to separate from its socket. He pulled up directly into the path of the Pale Flyer, hoping to catch her and carry them both to freedom with his momentum. Their eyes met one more time, and Squall saw in that instant that the fear was gone, replaced with a breathless acceptance.

But as he climbed, expecting to feel her body collide with his, he felt nothing, nothing but the icy touch of the fog.

And then he was free, spiraling into the clear night sky in a state of utter confusion. How? How could she have missed him? She'd been heading right for him! The canyon had been too small for her to slip right past him, hadn't it? And besides, it couldn't have been that she wanted to die. Outside of the trees, cheers erupted from the few Flyers that had made it to the end to watch. Despite their jealousy, it seemed, even they were willing to respect such a clear display of skill. Yet their cries were mere echoes in his ears as Squall tried to piece together what had happened. Had she made it out too? Had she pulled up in time? He couldn't answer those questions, but he knew how he could.

So, without once acknowledging his small audience, Squall flipped himself around and dove back towards the concealed canyon below.

III.

The Pale Flyer

The hole was harder to see from above, but the Flyer didn't need to find it. He knew where the canyon lay, and the moment he touched down upon the leafy canopy he set to work tearing through it with an almost otherworldly furor. Before long, he'd reached the canyon, spilling through onto the smooth stone beneath the leaves. The fog still covered the floor of the canyon, and he felt its icy bite as he slipped beneath the leaves, but nothing slowed the young Flyer as he descended back down into the canyon's dark maw, scrambling down the curved rock faces on all fours. There was no room to fly, but that didn't bother him. The only thing he cared about now was finding the Flyer… or whatever was left of her. An impact at the speed she'd been traveling… Squall tried to wipe the picture from his mind, but it was impossible. He had to find out what had happened to her, if for no other reason than for his own closure.

Squall scaled the canyon walls quickly, dropping to the hard, cold floor with a clacking echo that seemed to go on forever. Before, when he'd flown by the pale Flyer's side, he'd never realized how foreboding the canyon was, but now, down here, alone among the fog and shadows, he felt a great emptiness in his chest. Now more than ever, he truly felt alone.

It was easier to find the exit hole below, and Squall quickly crawled to the location. There was no sign of her, as he'd expected, so he pushed on, following the canyon floor as it led up towards the surface. Every step, every stumble through the dark without her light to guide him was a leap forward into the unknown. He didn't know how much farther the canyon went on for, though he knew there wasn't much left to it. They'd just about run out of room when they finally escaped.

Squall squinted his eyes, peering through the darkness as they adjusted. The walls were practically squeezing him now, and he had to tuck his wings close to his sides to keep crawling forward. Still no sign of her.

Then his beak tapped the cold stone of a rock wall dead ahead, and Squall stopped. He'd reached the end; the canyon stopped here. Yet he hadn't found a body, not even a trace of the pale Flyer remained. He cradled his head in his claws, trying to think, attempting to understand the realization that he had come to when a faint glimmer of hope appeared to him.

 _If she's not here, then she must have escaped!_

It seemed impossible, but it was the only thing that made sense. She wasn't down here, and that meant somehow she'd made it out past him without his knowledge, and…

 _And kept flying, I guess._

His conclusion hurt, but he supposed it was better than knowing she was dead. Squall began to climb his way back up towards the exit, but as he scaled the canyon wall, something about the pale Flyer stuck in his mind. Try as he might, he couldn't completely dismiss her.

 _What's more to say? She's gone, but she's alive. It sucks, but it happens. Pick yourself up and move on. There's a whole roostful of females waiting for your return._

But _she_ wouldn't be there, he reminded himself as he wrapped his claws around the hole leading to the world outside the canyon.

 _Unless she's waiting for me._

Spurred on by his sudden flash of inspiration, Squall pulled himself up and through the hole. The Flyers of the roost had gathered around him, and the moment he made his way back up and out of the canyon, they resumed their cheering. Some of the males even patted him on the back, and despite his single-minded dedication to finding the pale Flyer, he couldn't help but smile. The old Squall was shining through again. He was a hero.

Squall worked his way through the crowd, not directly acknowledging anyone as he scanned for the familiar green eyes or pale skin of his flying companion. Other females crossed his path, practically throwing themselves towards him, but he ignored them, rather rudely in some cases as he left them in the dust, confused.

With no luck so far, Squall decided to head back through the crowd towards the canyon, in the hope that he might have missed something, but as he approached the hidden ravine, he saw something else that caught his attention: an old Flyer, standing apart from the crowd by the canyon's leaf-covered edge. Squall knew immediately who he was and altered his course, cutting through the furball towards him. If anyone would know where the pale Flyer had gone, it would be him.

The old Flyer lifted his head as Squall approached, but did not immediately turn to face him.

"That you, wetbeak?"

"Yeah, it's me, old timer."

Lathos blew a blast of air from his nostrils. "Hah. Still no respect for your elders." The old Flyer blinked once, hard, and as he turned towards him, Squall could have sworn for a moment that he saw a tear in his eye. But then it was gone, vanished like the the dying light of a fading day.

"Listen, wetbeak. I, uh, I'm really proud of you. I honestly thought you were full of shit when you showed up and started running your mouth about that canyon. Turns out, I was wrong about you. I was wrong about a lot of things."

Squall could sense a story coming on, and moved to cut him off before he could continue.

"Well hey, that's… I appreciate that. Thanks. But do you think you could tell me-"

The old Flyer held up a claw, cutting Squall off. "Please, Squall, let an old Flyer finish."

Squall groaned inwardly. Every moment of his time spent with Lathos was time he could be using to find the pale Flyer. Despite his yearnings to continue the search, however, he shut his mouth. He owed it to the old Flyer to at least hear him out. Besides, it might make him more cooperative in the search to come. So he listened silently to what the old Flyer had to say.

"What I tried to tell you, Squall, was that I didn't think it was possible to survive the canyon run that you just made. To see you emerge victorious… I still don't know how to feel. You see, this canyon holds a very personal connection for me. I have seen it take the best and brightest before, and I will admit- I did not want to see that happen again."

Squall raised an eyebrow, setting aside his questions about the pale Flyer for the moment for curiosity's sake.

"What do you mean? I thought you told me I was the only one to try."

Lathos shook his head. "No, I never said that. I told you that none had ever completed the run before. There was, however, one other attempt."

"When I was younger, my mother hatched a beautiful daughter, Aila. She was the pride of our family, possessing a beauty unmatched by any in the roost. My mother always told her that she would make her mate happy one day, but I think the words seemed to bounce right off her. She cared little for the future, of the idea of one day raising a family of her own. Instead, she grew up a lot like you: loud, arrogant, full of wingfire but with the skill to back it up. She ran the canyons each day, and each day she got better and better at it. My mother hated it, and it all came to a head one night. They had a fight. She told Aila that she was worth nothing to the roost without a mate, and she fought back, doing her best to defend what she really loved. It was no use, though. My mother drove her from the nest, and it was this which made her decide to do something drastic."

Squall's stomach shifted uneasily as Lathos recounted his tail. Something felt off; but he sat in respectful silence as Lathos went on.

"There was a canyon not far from the roost. By now you're familiar with it. You should be- after all, you just flew it. It had been deemed so dangerous, that none of us had ever run it, but that night, she went down into that canyon. Must've got it into her mind that if she pulled off something no other Flyer had pulled off before, her mother might reconsider. Or, maybe she did it out of spite. Maybe…" he blinked back another tear before going on, "maybe she knew exactly what was going to happen down there, and she went on anyway, out of fear of the life she was being pushed towards. I don't know. But what I do know is this: when she failed to turn up the next day, we went looking for her, and a full day later we found her body at the bottom of the canyon, right near where you made it out. Her neck was broken; dead on impact."

The hairs on the back of Squall's neck stood up at rapt attention and a chill coursed through his body. He hadn't really encountered… he shook his head slightly, letting the old Flyer finish, squashing the wild notion before it even had the chance to form.

"That's why I didn't want you to go, Squall. I didn't want the canyon to claim you like it claimed her. The memories of that night five years ago are too fresh. But I see now that I was a fool, and I'd like to think that somewhere out there, Aila is happy knowing that someone was able to finish what she started."

He sighed, looking out over the canyon.

"You would have liked her, young Squall. She was a lot like you. You'd have hit it off the moment you laid eyes on each other, or you'd be at each other's throats. Maybe both. I suppose I can't speak for the dead. I just wish you'd had the chance to meet. She would be proud of you."

A question arose, clawing itself up from the depths of Squall's heart. He tried to fight it, knowing that the answer was something he might be better off not knowing, but his curiosity got the better of him, and he spoke before he had the chance to stop himself.

"Lathos?"

"Hm?" the Flyer turned back towards Squall, surprised to be addressed by his name rather than "old timer" again.

"This sister of yours, Aila, what… what did she look like?"

Lathos's eyes closed before the tears could form this time. He took a deep breath, composing himself for a moment, and then faced Squall again, his eyes shimmering.

"Her eyes were a bright, sparkling green, some of the brightest eyes I've ever seen in my life. But that wasn't what made her truly memorable. No, that would be her coat."

"Her coat?"

Lathos nodded. "Oh yes. So pale, and yet so bright that at night, you'd be forgiven for thinking she'd plucked the Night Circle right out of the sky and wrapped herself up in it. Such a unique color. It fit her well."

The color drained from Squall's face, and it felt as if every organ in his body had suddenly plummeted down to the dark depths of the canyon, leaving him standing as an empty shell before Lathos. It was the answer he'd dreaded but somehow, it was also the one he'd expected. He didn't want to believe it, he wasn't even certain he _could_ believe it…

But there was no mistaking what he saw in the canyon that night.

"You alright, wetbeak?" the old Flyer chuckled, "you're looking a little pale yourself."

Squall opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His mind was caught in the embrace of a frozen claw, choking him, cutting off any and all rational thought as he tried to process what he had just experienced. She was dead, yes, but what he saw, who he flew with- that Flyer was as real as anything else in that canyon.

Trembling, the Flyer turned away from Lathos. The crowd of Flyers near him turned to watch him, but their smiles turned to confusion as they saw the hollow look in the formerly chipper Flyer's eyes. Something was very wrong.

"Squall, you okay?" Lathos called out again? Squall tilted his head until he was staring back at the old Flyer, and this time he was able to choke out a response.

"I'm fine, old timer, but I think it's best I be on my way."

And with that, he was gone, climbing high into the sky on his powerful young wings and never once looking back. A gust caught him from behind, carrying him ever higher as he climbed towards the Night Circle.

And as he took flight he thought he heard, carried on the wind, two words. Two words that would follow him for many nights to come.

 _Thank you._


End file.
